


After()

by plurality



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Flashbacks, Gen, I apologize in advance, I mean, POV Animal, Post-Canon, Sad Cat Fic, Spoilers, Starvation, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plurality/pseuds/plurality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end, what else is left?</p>
            </blockquote>





	After()

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by uropygid

The sharp, grating machinery noise had stopped, the cat realizes as she wakes from her nap. She pricks her ears and rolls herself up from her chosen perch, a tube with the same _things_ the Builder was so fond of. Still no sign of them. Needless to say, the cat is relieved. As far as she knows, nothing good comes out of associating with those things.  
  
With a single leap, the cat lands on the laboratory floor with a muffled thump that shatters the unnatural silence permeating around her. She pads over to where her Man was laying, slumped next to his mate. The foul liquid he had drunk left puddles around him as he had crawled there. She dares not go near them.  
  
− _'_ − _baby, come here,' her Man rasps, coughing and grasping blindly for his mate._  
  
 _But her Man doesn't smell right at all, almost like he isn't hers after all. The cat flattens her ears and hisses at the sickness she sensed hovering around him, tail low and twitching on the ground._  
  
 _'Please -' he pleads again, and the cat turns tail and flees to higher ground, away from the sickness, away from her Man. She watches him shudder, and fall still_. −  
  
Now, the cat comes closer to the both of them. Her Man's mate's hand is cold and papery to her nose. When she hops onto his chest and kneads at him, no rumbling chuckle, no warm hand that would herald the arrival of food. The cat sniffs at his face, and recoils at the trail of poison from his lips.  
  
As for her Man, well. His face is slack, almost like he was asleep, her human kitten, if not for his half-open eyes that stare balefully at her. She licks at his pale hair, his dark cheek, and wrinkles her nose at the salty taste of drying tears. The cat meows, just once, to see if her Man would, kindly, get her something to eat. Get up off the ground and open up some cabinet. One last time.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
-  
  
The cat leaves behind her Man, leaves through the door the Singer had so irresponsibly left slightly open. Perhaps she would find the Lady, or the Builder, and meow at them until they feed her.  
  
The buildings around her seem larger now, without her Man to lend a shoulder. She knows that the city changes often, that once every week or so, buildings are moved around, new ones come and go. But never all at once like this, this complete erasure of everything recognizable. White blocks loom above her, and everything smelled Wrong.  
  
The cat growls, low and growing in her throat as she makes her way down, down, down.  
  
-  
  
When she enters a courtyard just outside of her tower, however, every inch of her trembles. The cat's fur bristles, and she arches her back as she stares at it.  
  
− _Her Man's fingers dig into her fur as he runs, following his mate, with her cradled in his arms. Running from_ them _, the Builder's toys. Not so tamed now, like a flood unleashed with the breaking of a dam, they had come after them, come after everything._  
  
 _Then, the world shakes._ −  
  
Larger than her. Larger than anything. It's burst open like a overripe fruit, its soft insides red and glistening. Not bleeding. Unnatural, just like its smaller companions. But broken. Useless.  
  
Still, the scent of scorched metal and Wrongness makes her keep her distance. The cat clambers over fallen scrap metal and briefly, just briefly, catches the fading scent of the Thief.  
  
She continues on.  
  
-  
  
The time it takes to climb down the tower makes the yawning hunger in her stomach ache with discontent. She looks into every nook and cranny that the newly cleared, washed out district has left, and finds nothing. Puddles of tepid water sustain her, but the urge to find the Lady and the Builder become a keenly-felt need.  
  
She meows and wails whenever she can. Someone, anyone left? It sets her fur bristling and prickling, going  through these places that was once, so noisy, so crowded.  
  
− _Her Man's fingers rub her ears as they look out at the bustling square from their vantage point, a balcony seat of a new café, already imbibed with the strong scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked biscuits._  
  
 _'I wouldn't give this place a month,' her Man tells her, his other hand tapping away at a screen. 'Sure, it has decent coffee, but it doesn't have the variety and the decor that would make it attractive to Cloudbank. Wouldn't you agree, my dear?'_  
  
 _She nudges her head into his hand and purrs when he obliges her unspoken demand._  
  
 _She can hear her Man's smile in his voice when he says, with no small satisfaction, 'Thought so.'_ −  
  
The cat comes across another colossus nearing the edge of the place, by the bay. It's not visibly broken like the first, but it doesn't move when she prods it with a paw.  
  
She knows that across the water is where she'll find the Lady and the Builder. She _knows_ this.  
  
And yet, this ready-made bridge gives her pause. Wrongness oozes from its massive form, and the water looks colder and colder as she looks down.  
  
Hunger wins out, as it usually does, and the cat, ears pressed tight against her head and tail low, leaps onto its dangerous looking tail. Segment by segment. She comes to the place where things started going wrong for her Man.  
  
-  
  
The large theater was absolutely deserted, and she's more than a little cautious when she pads to the front. Danger screams at her from her last memories here. But when she sniffs at a block of white, the cat releases out a loud meow when she recognizes the Lady's scent below the ever-present Wrongness, twisted and deformed, but still _hers_.  
  
And yet, there is nothing that would suggest that her Lady was encased in this white tomb. The human must be hiding somewhere. Perhaps, after the cat finds her, the Lady would give her something to eat. The cat hops onto the block, and yowls, calling for her to come _out_ , already, hasn't the danger gone?  
  
But it's only her voice echoing throughout the hall. She calls and calls again, until her meows rasp from her dry throat. The cat lashes her tail in frustration, and lies down with her belly touching the cold, white metal. Meows one final time, a little kitten mew she only uses when she's sick. It isn't a game, the cat seethes. Her Man is dead, and she's tired, and hungry, and she just wants someone she knows to feed her and run their fingers through her fur. And the Lady was hiding, and when the cat finds her, the Lady's going to be scratched for the troubles she'd caused.  
  
Uncomfortable and hungry and upset, she curls into herself. Sleep comes a cold comfort.  
  
− _The Singer disappears with the Glowing Stick and its victim with a muted flash, and the machinery around them hums. An awakened hive that swarms around them and into the city. She hisses._  
  
 _'What the hell just happened?' Her Man's mate says, staring at the place where the Singer_ \- the thief! - _had stood._  
  
 _The Builder is already in motion, his long legs heading straight to the helicopter by the back of the theater. 'You,' he says, his gossamer voice growing fainter as he runs, 'have just lost,_ lost _, what keeps the Process from running, running rampant across Cloudbank.'_  
  
 _No words after that, they run after the Builder until the cat meows urgently in her Man's ear._  
  
 _'What is it? I - Grant!' They stop._  
  
 _Her Man's mate's voice booms out above the motorized humming. Calling, 'Sybil!'_  
  
 _The Lady stays in the same place, rooted. She turns to them with a serene smile, and the cat recoils along with her Man. The Lady's face seems Wrong, like the things closing in on them._  
  
 _The cat pricks her ears. In the distance, the Builder strikes on the flying machine._  
  
 _As the now-unfriendly horde draws closer and closer, the Lady's voice reaches them. 'Go on, I'll stay here. I'll be fine, I'll be fine. Fine fine fine fine.'_  
  
 _Her Man hesitates. 'Grant?'_  
  
 _'Sy-'_  
  
 _The Builder reaches them, wind from the helicopter's rotors buffeting her. She digs her claws into her man's shoulder, hissing._  
  
 _'We have to go, go now,' the Builder says over the noise._ 'Now, _Grant. Sybil's half-gone already, too late to do anything. Too late.' His eyes betrays his unhappiness, but he keeps the machine steady as her Men board._  
  
 _Her Man takes the cat from his shoulders and cradles her close to his chest. His mate's hands shake as he grips the doorframe._  
  
 _'I'll wait for her. I'll wait for her. I'll wait, wait wait wait,' the Lady sings out in the middle of the swarm. No matter how much she strains her ears, the cat cannot erase the deteriorating quality of the Lady's voice. 'She'll come to me. She'll come, she'll come, she'll come.'_  
  
 _Her Man buries his face into her fur._   −  
  
-  
  
She wakes, stiff and chilled to the bone. It rains lightly, which is strange. As long as she's been with her Man, it hasn't rained more than a sparse few times. And during the one or two times it did, she and her Man stayed indoors.  
  
The cat huffs as raindrops peppers her, and looks around for some sort of shelter. Nothing except a miserable corner, which didn't appeal to her at all. Flicking moisture from her ear, she meows. Perhaps the Lady would be kind enough to share her parasol when she comes out of hiding?  
  
When nothing stirs in the set, her ears flatten, and she droops. Nothing to do but move on, she supposes. Doesn't mean she has to like it.  
  
-  
  
The cat makes her way through the plazas and squares, the thoroughfares and the highways, and there is nothing but white and metal and everything is Wrong. Posters of the Singer are the only things that had been spared from the machinery's purging. She could say that she hates the woman. It was _her_ fault, it all started to go wrong when the Thief took the Glowing Stick from her Man's mate. If she had the strength, the cat would claw at the pictures, but weariness dogs her steps nowadays.  
  
There's only so much ground she can cover on her lonesome. Her glossy pelt dulls and grows mangy. No matter how much she grooms herself, there are tangles she cannot undo, and it only makes her cough up hairballs even more.  
  
No prey, no vermin in this cleansed place. No one in the city would stand for it, back when there had been people able to choose. The cat searches, now, and finds that the swarm had been of the same mind.  
  
She catches sleep whenever she can. Drinks metallic water from puddles along the edges of the streets until she feels she's about to burst. Anything to stave off the worst of her hunger pangs.  
  
The Lady isn't coming. This, she's come to accept; no matter where she had looked, how loudly she had called, the cat couldn't even find a trace of the Lady's pale hair, her colorful parasol, her bubbly laugh.  
  
Her Man and his mate are dead.  
  
-  
  
There is a patch of color among the whiteness ahead of her. The cat spots it as she rounds the corner, and her heart leaps. It must be the Builder. Only he works change of this scale.  
  
She very nearly charges towards it, tail high in triumph. Only, it isn't the tall, smoke-smelling man she finds. It's the Singer and a Stranger. Dead. And the Glowing Stick. The Thief's blood adds more color to the white emptiness that had more than invaded the cat's world.  
  
She prowls closer to the Glowing Stick. What was so important about it anyway? It couldn't make food; isn't warm at all, despite its glowing−it wouldn't even make a proper shelter. In disdain, she makes to bat at it−  
  
A forceful snarl interrupts her, breaking the long quiet in the worst way possible. The Golden Dog charges towards her, fast, faster than her, all teeth and percussive barks. The cat tries to run - oh, she _tries_ , but the Golden Dog catches her.  
  
She yowls as its needle-sharp fangs sink into her shoulder, explosions of pain engulfing her. Claws unsheathe, and she puts all her strength into slashing at what seemed to be its face. It doesn't deter the Dog, and it flings her away from its charges.  
  
The bridge she lands on is the only escape route the cat has. So, though her shoulder scream protests with every limping step, and her paws are tender from scratching hard, golden plating, she flees the colorful interruption, into the white.  
  
-  
  
Trailing red paw-prints behind her, the cat makes her way through the impossible streets. When she looks up, she sees white, and below: white. She weaves through arches and pillars, and catches a hint of the Thief's scent here, too.  
  
The Builder's helicopter is smashed against what is currently the floor, consumed by blocky rubble. To her relief, the Builder is nowhere near it. But she can't find any trail of him, leaving her to wander.  
  
Circles and circles, up and down. Into the abyss, onto paths of wind. Her black fur falls out in patches, and her shoulder aches and burns a furnace.  
  
Then, finally, she finds the Builder's territory, miraculously untouched by the Wrongness, and just as how she remembers it.  
  
-  
  
The Builder is at his usual place at his terminal, sitting in the old, worn out chair he always did. The cat weakly tugs at his pants, meowing in her enfeebled voice. Even he had to eat, right? Where was he when her Man's mate collapsed? When her Man did?  
  
She jolts into alertness when she realizes the Builder hasn't responded. What was wrong?  
  
Jumping onto the table, she paws at a coffee mug that has long ago gone cold. Pushes it off the table, actually. Always drives the Builder crazy, when she does things like that.  
  
− _The Builder points at her with a pen. She looks at him, lying atop his workspace, right in front of the terminal screen._  
  
 _'Since my well-researched efforts to deter you from messing about my studio, messing with my research, messing with, well, everything, have not made a significant impression on you, it only stands to reason I should try a more direct approach," the Builder declares. 'So, here I am. Directly approaching you. Very direct,  as you can see. I'm even maintaining eye-contact. Sybil's been going on about how eye-contact is important to conveying words and meanings. So.'_  
  
 _The cat blinks._  
  
 _And the Builder waves a vague hand around him. 'Well, for a start, you could make yourself more agreeable to the idea to_ not knock over everything that's on my desk _, for a start. A very good start. Actually, I'd prefer it if you just, well, stay on your owner's shoulder,_ stay there _, whenever you come to visit. I'll applaud you if that's what it'll take. Positive reinforcement reinforces good behavior, I'm told.'_  
  
 _From the back, her Man huffs a small laugh. 'You know, cats don't work that way, Royce.'_  
  
 _'Nonsense,' was the reply, 'you see, we have already reached an agreement, wouldn't you say, err, feline?'_  
  
 _The cat doesn't break eye contact with the Builder, and, very deliberately, knocks over a can of cigarette ashes._ −  
  
The Builder hasn't responded to the cup's shattering into little pieces on the floor. Nor when she bats at the flickering terminal screen. Or when she gnaws at the Builder's proxy's plastic plug. Or when she upends his chair. His limp body simply lands with a muted thud, and his head lolls.  
  
The cat sniffs at his face, nudging and desperately purring. Why wasn't he doing anything? The only malady she could tell the Builder had suffered from was a nosebleed, and the blood was drying already, staining his pristine lab coat.  
  
She comes closer to his neck and mouth. No beating pulse, no puffs of smoky air. Her ears flattens; her tail falls to the ground. She meows and meows and meows, and there is no answer.  
  
-  
  
The cat stays in the Builder's territory for who knows how long, searching for the food he must have stowed away. There has to be at least some, no living thing, human or cat, never eats. But the Builder's cupboards and shelves are free from any sustenance.  
  
So she leaves. Makes the long, confusing journey back to the Singer's bridge - it's a little easier this time: all she has to do is to follow her own tracks, clumps of fur and dried blood when she gets nearer to her destination.

The Golden Dog has its head lying on the Singer's lap, its body curled around her, mindless of the miserable light rain, or the sea of endless monotone white. The cat limps past it, giving the cursed Glowing Stick a fair amount of distance.

Just like a Dog, to wait forever.

-

She finds it more and more difficult to make jumps. Easy jumps she had done countless times before. Either she can't force herself to leave the ground behind, or she stumbles as she lands. Somehow, she can't find herself caring all that much.

-

After she pads up a flight of stairs, phlegm and coughs seize her throat, and she has to rest a good while before getting up again. Her shoulder aches and burns with the effort.

-

The cat slips inside to find that nothing has changed much, ever since she left. As she limps by the terminal, dizziness and black spots dot her vision, and she stumbles into it, knocking it over with a loud crash that rang out like a whip.

"−in the Country," her Man's voice, a soothing, familiar cadence, crackles through the damaged machinery. "See you in the Country − _zzt_ −see you in the Country -"

It drives her towards his body.

She stumbles again, and collapses against him. The soft red scarf still has some remnant traces of his scent, preserved despite the semi-exposure to the elements. The cat breathes a difficult breath, and does not make to get back up.

"See you in the Country," says the recording, and ah, she misses her Man. Was this what the Golden Dog felt? "See you in the Country."

It's almost like a lullaby.

More black spots darken her vision, and everything blurs.

Perhaps, she'll feel better after a nap.

-

-

− _The kitten looks up at the human male crouching above her in the small, out of the way pet shop._

_'I'll take her off of your hands,' he says to the Owner. 'No, no, it's no trouble. I can take her today.'_

_The human lifts her up with deceptive gentleness, and she catches a glimpse of blue eyes. When she opens her mouth in a mew, they crinkle._

_And she knows that to her, to the tiny her, he will be her whole world. A Man of her very own_. −

-

-


End file.
